Ladylove with Blue Eyes
by Stellarscapes
Summary: Rumpelstiltskin rips Belle away from her family, friends and home taking her as the Dark Castle's caretaker. In weeks, an understanding is born, friendship follows soon enough, and then what happens later is something completely unexpected, because the Dark One was never looking for it...love.
A deep red cloud of mist was all the proof that lingered the exit of the mouthy, thoughtless girl that, deliberately or not, had ruined a golden chance for him. One made in several months, carefully assembled and planned, no less than that, ruined. An inhuman snarl escaped his grey-lined lips and he cursed, cursed and _cursed_ loudly at his stupid negligence. Loose ends were _his_ main via of victory and success on his deals yet this time he allowed himself to grow confident too prematurely when he could've done it on his home, where both the dagger and the hat would've been protected from wandering eyes. Especially from that girl's _too_ snooping gaze.

He loathed the fact that there was nothing he could do to get it back (by force no, but time, _time_ was everything for him) except waiting and planning everything again. At this, he screamed and snarled in barely-contained rage. Wooden tables and chairs shook, rose and were hauled to the walls, destroying them all. The imp stroked the closest column repeatedly until he was panting from the effort and the anger simmering in him. He cursed himself and cursed the mouthy girl again.

It was a foolish mistake to taunt the naïve princess, sometimes Rumpelstiltskin (even he yes) forgot that naivety is _not_ ignorance, and also that not all royalty were the same mindless, or fearful, cowering and sneering people. Either way, they all had in common the same thing: in the end they always got their way. Just seeing the panorama of this afternoon was enough proof. Despite the few tears the _nice_ girl shed for her 'poor' little sister's dilemma minutes earlier he knew for sure that by now she must be reuniting with her, hugging and laughing, content in each other's arms.

Heroes always won.

And he? Oh the gods would surely _cursed_ the day he had his way. Heavens forbid the villains winning for _once_ in their lives. Let alone the bloody Dark One.

Rumpelstiltskin clenched his fists, black nails digging on his skin painfully, trying to muster any strength _at all_ to try and resist the dagger's missing command. There was no way he was going to revert one of his spells for that old apprentice. Yet without even trying he was aware of how futile his intentions were. His finger were itching to comply with the girl's command. He was going to do it and he didn't have a say on it. Disgusting as it was, nonetheless, he became a willing dog, having to perform anything his master or mistress sought, he was laced to the dagger as he was to the Dark One's curse.

He'd only experienced this feeling of complete submission once before this, a time when he'd been (very unwisely) smitten enough to allow Cora to see the dagger for herself when she'd asked for it (after, of course, he'd spilled the whole story one night). Never mind the past (or the present) because he was experiencing the very same jerk on his blood made only by the damnable dagger. An animus chorus interlacing his limbs and mind with the _physical_ need to fulfill its master wishing.

Before, Cora had smiled and asked him to raise his hand, wanting to see if it really was true (caution and intellectual gleam shinning on her eyes) that the most powerful sorcerer in all the realms could be control by withholding an ordinary, wavy knife. Instantly, her amusement had died on her lips when she'd saw him pulling his arm upwards and maintaining it there. Now he could very well picture how her crystal-like eyes had glinted, how for a flashing second he had feared her and then how he'd let go (smitten yes) of all of his insecurities when she'd told him to drop it, handing him the dagger back to him, smiling and pulling him for a lust-laced kiss. Only saying, ' _intriguing toy'_ back to him. As for the rest of the night, clearly, he'd forgotten the particular, strange glint, he was, occupied with other _musings_ ….

Rumpelstiltskin grimaced openly every time he remembered that heartless woman he used to love and was willing to settle down with. Even the Dark One could be fool and blinded by petty emotions. Really, it wasn't his fault that _that_ girl Ana had rose ideas and memories in his head he longed to forget—and he had done a very decent job since the last decades only pondering about it once or twice.

 _Foolish girl_ , he snarled inwardly, _I should have squash her when I could. Her and her big mouth filled of bare truths and her naïve assumptions. I am perfectly fine as how I am, a monster, a beast with no heart—_

A squeaking near his leg snapped him back to the present.

Looking down, the imp snarled heatedlywhen he saw the tiny mice tugging on his covered right leg. He crouched down, pinching the roader between his forefinger and thumb, eyes hard and cold. "Don't think for a second this is over, apprentice." he hissed lowly, no trace of his giggling persona on sight, as he leaned over until the mice's and his face were inches apart. "The girl was only a small bump on the road of my journey. A loose end I assure I _won't_ repeat again. But hear me, dear apprentice, you shall tell your teacher that the Dark One isn't one to give up over anything he desires."

He skidded backwards, missing only for seconds the mice's sharp teeth on his cheek. His curse cried in bloodlust, craving it after his failure but he, as usual, covered the need with an impetuous giggle. "My, aren't we a little thrilled for my plans?" he smirked. "As entertaining as this had been I must say I should be returning to my dear Dark Castle soon. Who knows what kind of desperate souls must be wandering its outskirts by now." the fiend giggled again. "Not that I care but some good deals can be made, who knows." Stepping back, he shrugged and, with a mocking flourish and a twitch of his wrist, dropped the apprentice-turned-mice to the floor only to transform him back to his original old, haggard form unceremoniously.

Rumpelstiltskin tsked as he watched the old man stumble to his feet hastily, glaring with intensity at the same time. "Keep those evil eyes for another day, dearie. You're back to your old, rotten body, my condolences for it by the way." he interjected then he cleared his throat. "Anyway, don't get too comfortable on it. We'll be seeing again. The next time without any third parties ready to back you up and to dissolve my plans. Hopefully you'll end as a bug." the imp gestured around, feigning consideration. "Far easier to be squashed."

The now human apprentice reared back, all determination and anger, taking one step closer to him, his hands fisted. "You would not win, Dark One. People before you didn't and couldn't accomplish it and be reassured neither will you succeed."

"Is that a threat, old man?" Rumpelstiltskin's face twisted into a smirk. Hiding his need to turn him into a snail since he _couldn't_ and, well, wouldn't. Liking it or not, the man could've his uses in the near future. "I fail to see what harm you could do."

"The sorcerer—"

"—is not here, is he?" the fiend finished, red smoke began to seep through his fingers as he rubbed his digits together. "I wonder if he's even alive sometimes. Nevertheless, keep your threats to yourself, dearie. I don't really want the nuisances."

The apprentice straightened his back, jabbing a finger in his direction and making him giggle soundly at his audacity. "You won't win in this life or in any—"

"Now, now, dearie." He grinned, all grey-and-gold pulling back to form a faux smile. Sharp and smooth. "We'll see about that." He sing-sang.

And then he was gone.

. . .

"Papa, you must listen to me." Belle was nearly pleading her father to see her. "The only reason you're refusing to do it is because you know I'm right, don't you?"

"Belle…" Her father, King Maurice, sighed heavily. His shoulders slumped, dropping his face into his palm as he rubbed his forehead with two fingers. "Stop, my dear. This had to stop. I warn you once but I won't warn you twice."

"What would you do?" Belle retorted back, her posture rigid as she glared back at her father. "Lock me up in a tower, with no food or water. Because as far as I'm aware our harvest was poor enough this year for it to come to that without all the hassle of barring me up."

A small part of her loathed the idea of cornering her father with the veracity of their problems—because she knew he was well aware of them—but she couldn't help herself, for once she was growing desperate. All of them were. Last week, the Ogres had finally crushed their heels one of their main camps, successfully enabling them to send more troops in the spare of time and also allowing the abominations to take a grand amount of terrain. As they speak the real monsters are advancing, demolishing, destroying and slaughtering innocent people out there: the infirmaries were teeming to the peak with soldiers so tangled and broken, blood was everywhere….women were weeping the lost, and children were becoming fatherless…tragedies were unfolding per minute and hour so much that they couldn't afford to evade the reality anymore: The war was consuming them alive.

A week after her 'trip' the Ogres attacked their camps.

A week after the massacre and the council (including her father and Gaston) were evading the plan she proposed to her father fourteen days ago.

To call him. The powerful (enough to end the war) sorcerer whom Ana spoke her so little about, the very same one her father was extremely reluctant to speak of. Never had she seen him so…so scared of anything.

Belle loved her father dearly, and she was rather fond of Gaston's idiocy and tendencies for making himself the less-ideal of a bethrothed for her….but they were really, really exceeding her limits. A decision had to be made now. There was _no_ time, they had, in fact, _any_ at all since, by her estimation, the Ogres would reached the castle's lands in less than a week. The soldiers on the front being their only delay. And that rose her flares because she believed people were _not_ meant to be used as tools or mere objects in a war's strategies. They were living, breathing beings who had families and long lives to exploit.

And on top of everything, she was already fed up for other reasons. The dignitaries of Avonlea having riled her character to a boiling point in the last meeting just an hour ago, and even with that provocation (taunts of how narrow-mindless princess who didn't know her place, of dismissing, of implying if she did not have nothing else to do other than waste herself in important reunions; like, well, a lady's doing: sewing.)

Sewing, SEWING. There was a war out there! The mouthy, mindless and thoughtless, cold-blooded fools….Belle had been an inch close to sew the duke's head to the nearest tapestry—she was going to comment it to him when she was stopped by a soft squeeze on her forearm. Luckily for the duke, her father had interjected on her behalf, mostly, that is. Since he did ask her (an hour later) if she wanted to leave, assuring her this tiresome tasks weren't fit for a princess and that Gaston was here. Gaston had seconded him, of course, claiming she should rest. While gritting her teeth Belle'd decline him politely (directing her voice to the whole room in fact), through a strained smile and a levelled voice she'd reassured her father that she was perfectly fine and capable of lasting longer. Reminding him they needed all the help they could get with the planning on their defenses was her card to stay. And she tried to ignore the other men's cocked eyebrows and wandering eyes, but the lingering anger lasted.

Including that incident, yes, Belle thought she had been tolerant enough throughout the last few days. It had been two weeks ago since she had come back from her trip to Arendelle and, if she was honest with herself, she was far too worried for her people, annoyed at her both her father's and the council's dismissing (the former vexing her more), and afraid of the outcome of this endless war to even try to feign a patience she did not have any longer. At the very least for once in her life she wanted to be heard.

"Belle!" King Maurice admonished, spinning in his heels, successfully halting her pacing. "How can you even suggest I do that? A tower, no. However, if you continue this tirade I'll be forced to dismiss you to your quarters for the night."

"Not before you let me call him."

"No, no, no, gods _no_ , Belle. Not again with this." Her father shuddered at the idea. "We will not call that _monster_ until it is completely necessarily to do so."

"As a last resort, you mean, father?" Belle shook her head, chestnut tendrils carefully coiffed behind her head dangled out but she didn't care. Her blue eyes were gleaming in determination. Her words had to get through him this time. She could not—they, their kingdom, could not afford any more loss of lives. "Perhaps we won't have to wait as long as you think. The Ogre War is crawling its way to our feet as we speak, papa. Soldiers are dying, yards of terrains are brimming with the blood of our people, it's a massacre out there! At this point, we're practically sacrificing their lives to a living deathtrap." Belle opened her arms widely, gesturing the ball room they were using as a makeshift war council.

"Look around you. This is no longer a war we can even consider to win. We're losing _immensely_ already. Please father, you must be concluding to this facts also, please you need—you _have_ to stop this. And if by calling Rumpel… _this_ powerful sorcerer we will, then, we must do it. And I recognize its risks." she interjected briskly before her father could even mouth a word. "I know we are imperiling just by calling him, but… _if_ he's capable of stopping this awful war…" Blue eyes met blue, one riled up in bravery and the other reluctant but not disagreeing as he nodded the confirmation to her silent question, satisfied she continued, "Then, you know it is a price worth paying for. A sacrifice that must be made for the greater deed."

"Belle, I—" King Maurice was speechless. He digged his mind for a way to resolve their problems without having to call for that imp…and he came out empty-handed. His darling daughter had done it again, baring the scenario with her dose of reality and her sharp words. For weeks, he had ignore and dismiss her logic, but now, _now_ that they were so helpless….it looked as if she was right after all. The truth, however, did not fit well with him. His stomach lurched in biting anxiousness. Raising his head, he stared at the beautiful face of his daughter Belle whom, in exchange, was staring back at him, open and vulnerable, her hands grasping her violet robe, balled together, anxious and worried creases lining her face.

"Yes?" Belle prodded when the silent extended too much to bear it.

King Maurice looked away. "Tomorrow. We will call him by sunrise."

Belle closed her eyes in relief, and then she opened them slowly. "Thank you." she whispered. She knew he could've shoved her words away and send her to her quarters but he didn't, he chose to listen to her (something he didn't always do) and he believed on her words. It was no small feat what they were going to do. One had to have courage to even try, and she was proud he was willing to sacrifice for their people.

"Do not thank me yet." Her father cautioned, his breath hitched. "Don't. I want this war over and done with, and that monster is our only solution." He sighed mournfully, reminiscing all the lost lives, his wife's in particular. "I just hope we survive tomorrow's trials." he added quietly.

Belle strolled forward, her hand coming to rest on her father's shoulder. "Of course we will, Papa." The beauty smiled in reassurance, an effort to ease the tension suddenly enveloping the room, constricting it. "Faith is everything we need to have. And I have faith tomorrow would be an unforgettable date. A day where the war would finally end."

"If you say so, dear." King Maurice muttered.

"I know it." Belle squeezed his arm once and stepped back, putting distance between them. "Okay, since that's discussed, you should advice the rest…."

"I will, I will do that and you..." Her father nodded toward the double magony doors. "You should rest. You looked quite tired, my dear."

"I am." It was the truth. After convincing and filling her father with right reasoning she was left with the draining feeling only a mental fight can leave you with. Especially since she had been doing it constantly for the last two weeks. "Don't worry, Papa. I would rest and you should too, _all_ of us need to be prepared and have all our strength for tomorrow morning."

"Of course. I'll send Gaston to beware the council of….tomorrow's guest." He nodded once and smiled, only worry and weight of years on him. "Good night, Belle."

Belle's lip quirked weakly. Worrisome was making her feel light-weighted. "Good night." she replied, exiting the war room quickly as she entered. A sudden, heart-wrenching, forwarding dread trailed and tugged on the sharp corners of her subconscious, her feet feeling more than heavy on her way to her childhood room.

The beauty peered around her home, the castle on the marchlands, taking in all the bright red and golden decorations her father and mother chose all those years ago to renew the castle's walls. She wasn't sure what this feeling of tingling anxiousness or nervousness was about, what she could be comforted of was the relieving feel of coming out of her corset for the day. A week ago they (she) dismissed the castle's collection of maids and overall help, telling them to go and reunite themselves with their loved ones. For that same reason she found herself twenty minutes later dropping and kicking her corset to the farthest corner of her room, all done nicely by herself. Julie, her personal maid, loved to help her every day. Half of the time she thanked her offer but denied it and did it for herself. The other half she relented to her plea of how _'it is, in fact, her job to help her.'_

And she missed her, and the cooks and the rest of the maids. She prayed every night that they were safe on their camps surrounding the castle.

Belle sighed long and deep in the emptiness of her room.

For all that was worth it, she hoped they'll measure to the price Rumpelstiltskin would ask for. She snorted, thinking how her father would be scolding her harshly for even daring to say the sorcerer's name on her head. Although, she doubted he could read minds she wasn't willing to upfront this evil legend of a man on her undergarments if he did…so she stopped herself.

Belle forced herself to settle down on the bed, reaching for her pillows blindly as she closed her eyes, thanking the heavens for giving her a roof where to sleep tonight. If by any chance the sorcerer's magic failed (and she doubted it will) who knows how long will it be until the last of their few, remaining, weak defenses last before the Ogres crush the castle's doors and demolish everything on sight.

But she would not think of it.

Belle had faith.

On magic, on the stars, on _fate_ ….she was willing to sacrifice _everything_ if it came down to it.

It was well worth it, and, besides, how bad could things turn out?


End file.
